The Unknown Timeline
by RJT0123456789
Summary: Events have begun to unfold differently than expected... WARNING: There will be Genderbending. Planned romance in the unspecified future!


DICLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters mentioned in this story, nor do I own Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z or Dragon Ball GT.

If you have any questions on the work, please feel free to ask!

. . . .

A light, beige van tumbled down the rickety forest trail, crushing many pebbles and dead tree branches that caused the vehicle and its inhabitants to shake.

"If it's more fun this way, how do you intend to drive across the ocean?" the blonde asked, her eyes tilted from her sockets to the side and glancing at her raven-haired twin with a slight smirk.

"We'll ask for a boat," he responded calmly.

"And if they don't have one?"

"Then we'll find one."

She turned her eyes back to the trail in front of them, her smirk maintaining itself as she closed her eyes and gave off a light huff of air from her nostrils.

. . . .

Hardly any words were muttered after the occasional discussion of "What was there to do now?" The cyborgs had left them speechless; their sheer strength, and their fortunate decision to simply leave them there alive, as well. They merely thought to themselves in silent contemplation of the events that were to come. . . .

When the Capsule Corp. aircraft landed the island, everyone poured out, the adolescent boy racing forward in front of everyone else to the Kame House. His eyes welled of tears when he saw his father dead silent with his mother and father's friends looking down with him. "Is he. . . ." he muttered, "Mm mm," Chi-Chi mumbled, shaking her head and smiling. "He's just exhausted."

After everyone had poured into the room, they remained quiet out of respect, hoping not to awaken him into a state of panic or pain once more. "Do you think it worked. . . ?" Yamcha whispered, glancing at the purple-coloured young man. "Hmm. . . . It should be working. . . . But time seems to be unraveling differently here. I didn't expect him to experience these conditions this late."

The statement didn't seem to comfort the house-wife, as she looked at him with a desperate expression, disappointed by his answer since she was looking for re-assurance than facts. Then, suddenly, a hand placed itself on her shoulder, "Don't worry, Chi-Chi," Yamcha said with a slight cheerfulness, smiling, "As Trunks said, he's experiencing the effects of the virus this late. That must mean all of the training he's done has helped his overall health! And, the fact that he is soundly asleep must mean the medicine has taken affect! It's only a matter of time."

This time, Chi-Chi did smile, her red-painted lips curling upward as she clasped her hands together and stared over Goku with renewed optimism.

. . . .

"W-What. . . ?" his deep, vicious growl tore through his green throat, his fangs displaying loosely as he tightened a hand, raised in front of his chest, into a fist, his entire expression of hateful infuriation beneath his white turban.

The elderly Namek just stood emotionlessly in front of him, not muttering a word or hinting to anything he was feeling, which only served to further enrage the former Demon king.

"Why. . . ." he whispered in deep exhale, his jaw-line and canines exposing itself as his body shook.

The other, older Namek just glanced at him, his frail, old fingers wrapped around the neck of his wood, T-edged cane. "Piccolo. . . ." he muttered, "We both know this isn't about the Earth."

Then, the younger snarled. "Hua!" he extended his green fingers and further raised his arm a few inches to the side of his face before tearing his arm across, slashing his fingers at the air between them and resting his arm to his side. "And your cowardice is?!" he spat out; his seething hatred was on the brink.

"Mmm. . . ." Kami's eyes narrowed in sadness towards his other; "I'm sorry Piccolo, but I see no reason to sacrifice my life and the Dragon Balls in your desperate attempt to reclaim your pride, especially when the cyborgs have proven to be different than what the boy from the future described. . . ."

"You're PATHETIC! We have NO reasons to believe that aside from your own fear of DEATH!"

"No, Piccolo!" he quickly insisted, making his will not to back down apparent. "These cyborgs are nothing as Trunks described. . . . They have not killed one single person aside from Dr. Gero ever since their release. They are simply not the same, fearsome machines we had been warned about. I know you've noticed it, too! And we both know they were forcibly released earlier than anticipated—"

"Stop your lies! You've been waiting for this moment for years. . . . to humiliate me!"

"Piccolo. . . ." he muttered.

"I'VE HEARD ENOUGH." He turned his back and paced a few steps away. "You're clearly unfit to protect this world, yet you cling here solely for the purpose of Dragon Balls! But I don't need you! I DON'T NEED KAMI'S STRENGTH!"

"Piccolo! Please. . . ! You know what I've said to be true . . . !-"

"Say one more. . . . Try to rationalize your cowardice with me! I will not hesitate to kill us both!" Piccolo walked toward the edge of the Palace's lookout. He allowed himself to stand for a moment, his white, baggy cape flailing; Kami and his servant, Popo, quickly ran up several feet behind him, grunting in surprise at his erratic behavior. "They're going to kill Goku, and you're willing to just let him die. Well, I'm not deluding myself! Once they're finished with him, then they're going to start killing for fun! And I'm going to find ultimate power—Within the Demon King's realm. . . ."

Before any protest could be made, Piccolo blasted off from the lookout's edge, Mr. Popo shaking and muttering in fear as Kami just stood motionlessly, his eyes lost in thought. "Piccolo. . . ."

. . . .

The Saiyan Prince had stood silently in contemplation alone for several days, humiliation once more dictating his ego. He had been doing some training, and living off the land, though he would become easily distracted by his thoughts and surrender any notion of completing any training. If anyone were there to observe his habits, they could see him mostly standing like that of a lifeless statue, with sudden outbursts of shouting and destruction of nearby mountains or trees with his mere voice.

What he had been contemplating was not training, the cyborgs or even the revelation of his son being Trunks, but Kakarot. He had thought about all the triumphs this Saiyan had accomplished without his help, and by his strength alone. He had been able to do what he had tried for decades; somehow this man that completed denied his own heritage, and lived a life completely coddled from the cruel realities of war and terror had not only become stronger than his rightful master, but embody everything he ever desired, everything he ever strived for, and he had all of this for no cost.

Sure, Raditz, Nappa and his self had taken away his life, his friends, as well as Frieza, but these Dragon Balls. . . . They have merely rendered the concept of loss pointless! Goku's morals and positive spirit had remained intact. It was sickening.

Vegeta had learned to become unattached to life; to treat one's own comrades and family as though they were objects to further his own independence or experimentations for self-empowerment. There was no point to becoming like Kakarot, to settling down and falling in love, making friends, in this world.

His eyes closed as his black brows rested on his tightened eyelids as he recalled something unpleasant. Although, as soon as he began to lose himself in deeper though, his eyes tore wide open. He grunted, as his draw dropped in complete surprise.

"W-What! It c-can't be. . . !"


End file.
